Lord, save us!

James Ensor (1860–1949) joined or even anticipated all the ­pictorial movements of his time, from impressionism to surrealism, by way of symbolism, fauvism, naturalism, and expressionism. To be provocative, he liked to call himself a “revolutionary,” but in fact he was very attached to his middle-class lifestyle and the Belgian monarchy. Similarly, he openly professed anticlericalism, yet Christ is a constant presence in his work. And it unceasingly suggests what Christianity has to offer to Europe, which then was ­hastening to its ruin: the presence of a misunderstood, rejected person who nevertheless embodies its only hope. 

As early as 1885, he drew Christ’s Entrance into Jerusalem and Christ Mocked (or Christ as Ecce homo), in which Jesus is depicted as the incarnation of unjustly condemned innocence, of persecuted truth, of love desecrated by the attacks of a hostile crowd whose hatred is exacerbated by the religious leaders. In 1888 he published forty-five engravings on religious themes and unveiled his greatest work, which was as provocative and scathing as the artist, Christ’s Entrance into Brussels. 

With the turn of the century, Ensor became bitter. He went through a serious crisis of rebellion. But soon, from 1910 on, he once again favored Christian subjects. In 1912–1913 he completed a series of thirty-two colored-pencil drawings entitled Scenes from the Life of Christ. And in 1923, when Claude Bernières (a Catholic poet) won the prestigious Verhaeren Prize, Ensor, who had become famous, offered his artistic services to sing her praises and to illustrate her collection of poems, Les Heures (The Hours). 

Lord, save humanity!

The work that adorns the cover of the June issue of Magnificat, Christ calming the storm, was painted in 1891. It was inspired by the episode related by the Evangelists Matthew (8:23-27), Mark (4:35-41), and Luke (8:22-25). In 1887, Ensor was in London, where he ­discovered the works of Turner. As he himself explains, he copies from him here the powerful effect produced by the brilliance of the colors and lights. What he intends to depict “are not subjects, but rather lights.” And so his Sea of Galilee, raging in the storm, becomes like “the primitive chaos dominated by a divine breath” in which the elements, unleashed, breathe and cry out. In this chaos, the sea and the sky mingle their waves, so that their limits cannot be distinguished. And behold, submerged by the spray, the ­fragile skiff where Jesus and his apostles have taken their places. For Ensor, it represents humanity, assailed on every side by the furious forces of nature and of society. Revolted by the harmful realities of this world, Ensor hopes in the depths of his heart that this Jesus who stands at the prow of the boat to defy the powers of evil and death; that this Jesus is truly, really God who has come to share and to take on our human destiny so as to save it. 

Lord, save your Church!

For us Christians, this boat represents more particularly the Church, which will have to confront many storms along its voyage until the end of time: storms in which external forces are unleashed, but also, unfortunately, even more dangerous internal storms. And even if, in the Gospel, another account of a storm that is calmed (Mt 14:30) teaches us that it can happen that Peter himself may sink and be saved, just barely, only after crying out, Lord, save me!, one of his successors, in his last appearance in Saint Peter’s Square on the eve of his historic resignation, reminded us: “God does not let the boat [of the Church] sink” (Benedict XVI, February 27, 2013). 

Pierre-Marie Dumont
Christ calming the storm (1891), James Ensor (1860–1949), Museum of Fine Arts, Ostend, Belgium. © Artothek / La Collection.

To view James Ensor’s Christ calming the storm, click here